Finesse
by xfphile
Summary: "Just one dress can be . . . lethal."


Okay, this came about for a couple of reasons, the primary of which was residual guilt for not giving you wonderful people any smut in _Devil in the Light._ The other reason is because I rewatched _Murder a la Mode_ (S02E05), which is one of the BEST episodes ever of this show, and had a very strong urge to break down and cry during the last five minutes. So, this ficlet explores what might have happened had Jack given Phryne a different answer.

Thanks to Firebird9 for the sterling (as always) beta.

Also: this is rated M for a reason, people. You have been warned.

* * *

As Jack Robinson climbed out of his car and started toward the door of Phryne Fisher's St Kilda home, he had to wonder if he was still fooling anyone as to his reasons for 'dropping by' several times a week. It was true that nothing physical was happening between himself and Phryne, but given the rather long game they'd been playing for months now, that was something of a moot point. It was a testament to the level of respect she had for him that Phryne hadn't forced the issue; Jack was well-aware that had she only been interested in a brief fling, she would already have seduced him – not that it would have been all that difficult.

Unfortunately, that wasn't what either of them wanted. Well, not anymore. Jack was honest enough to admit that after he'd gotten to know Phryne, only the fact that he was still a married man had kept him from her bed; Phryne collected people the way others collected glass figurines and Jack . . . well, Jack was a person. More specifically, he was a male. And like virtually every man he'd seen around her, he was far from immune to her charms. It didn't help that once he'd told Phryne why he wouldn't – couldn't – succumb to the temptation they were both fighting (enjoying?), she had been completely understanding and utterly supportive while remaining a friend to him. Oh, she flirted with him – it was her standard setting, apparently – but it had been drastically toned down and lacked real intent.

Cue one extremely grateful, extremely frustrated Jack Robinson.

But. Now he was free . . . and damned if he hadn't done the one thing he'd sworn never to do: he'd fallen hard for her.

(no, not that kind of hard)

_((alright, fine, not __**only**__ that kind of hard))_

He loved her mind, the way she threw herself fully into whatever endeavor she was attempting, the fact that she didn't give a damn about societal expectations with regards to class or the traditional roles of men and women.

But he also loved her for her heart: she'd adopted Jane after what was, when you got down to it, a very short acquaintance. She'd taken Miss Williams in with no hesitation, even though the girl had been a murder suspect at the time. She'd actually done a great deal for Hugh Collins with regards to not only his fledgling career (a thought that made him grin in fond remembrance now), but also his overall confidence and his ability to adapt. Hell, she'd even civilised (for a given value of) those two Red-Raggers.

So, yes, Jack wanted her. And Phryne wanted him. Only — Phryne didn't 'do' commitment of the romantic type. Having seen her former lover threaten to shoot her in full view of a crowded restaurant (never mind the police), Jack could well understand why. He didn't begrudge her for it, but it had the decidedly unpleasant effect of making his life difficult, because he was well past the age (and desire, really) to want a casual fling. The problem was, he didn't know that he wanted a full-on relationship, either. He missed having someone to come home to, but he also liked having his space.

Still, Phryne wasn't a clingy person and while she liked attention, she didn't demand it to the exclusion of all else. Maybe it was time they talked.

With that in mind, he knocked on her door.

He was vaguely aware of Mr Butler standing aside to let him in, but Jack's attention was locked onto the dress she'd displayed at the _salon_. In the light of day, he'd thought it stunning; in the soft illumination of night, it was bewitching.

No, nononono, wait. The dress was still stunning. It was _Phryne_ who was bewitching.

Damn.

He started out well, giving her necklace back and making a wry quip about the fashion industry, and was holding his own in their usual coy sparring match – and then she had to go and tell him she 'might' be wearing lingerie under a dress that was designed for seduction. Jack Robinson reached his limit.

They could talk in the morning.

"Equally dangerous," he agreed . . . but he wasn't talking about the dress. Locking his eyes to hers, he watched her pupils dilate and felt his desire spike.

"And just one dress can be lethal," she purred – also not referring to the aforementioned dress – and easily holding his gaze.

Unable to stop himself, Jack gave her a slow, deliberate once-over before meeting her eyes again. A faint smile touched her lips before she asked him – dared him – to stay.

"Nightcap?"

He didn't look away from her captivating gaze as he inclined his head. Showing his usual psychic intuition, Mr Butler materialized at his shoulder and helped him out of his overcoat, and Jack hesitated for just a second before shrugging out of his suit jacket as well, enjoying the way Phryne's eyes widened. Seemingly oblivious to the charged atmosphere, he hung them both up and vanished. Once the man had gone, Jack stepped to the bottom of the stairs as Phryne descended to meet him. Her position put her above his height and she took full advantage, leaning over to get closer to him while simultaneously giving him a fantastic view of her shoulders and décolletage, mapped into quadrants for him to explore by the 'neckline' of her dress.

"Shall we?" he murmured _sotto voce_, earning himself an even better view. She got back at him by stepping forward and placing her palm on his stomach in a silent bid for space (and by stomach, he meant 'over his belt buckle.' The woman was evil.). Sheer willpower enabled him to keep his hands to himself as he moved back. She followed and managed to brush up against him as she flowed into the side hall leading to her private parlour. The pronounced sway of her hips made Jack smile with genuine appreciation for her refreshing honesty about her desires (and, also, the view).

They were perhaps halfway down the hall when he heard the sound of – the back door? – open and close. It was enough to make him pause in confusion and Phryne glanced back at him, then smiled, coming to his side.

"Mr Butler's gone out for his weekly card game with a butler's association from the neighborhood," she informed him, absently brushing something off his shoulder.

Jack felt an unexpected and completely unreasonable stab of jealousy at her words; how many of her lovers had gotten that excuse?

Reading his mind with her usual ease, Phryne shifted closer and took his hand, squeezing it tightly as she told him, with utter sincerity, "It started about two weeks after he joined the house, Jack, and only little things like inadvertently consuming hashish-laced fudge have prevented him from attending. He was actually on his way out when you knocked; they'd go earlier in the evening, but I'm firmly convinced Stephanie Ascott is incapable of opening a door for herself, so poor Mr Hudson isn't permitted to leave until the last of his duties have been discharged."

"Ah," was all Jack could manage, having been rendered mildly speechless at this.

Her eyes began to gleam with a light that he recognized (and was responsible for no small amount of his Phryne-induced insanity) as she murmured – with absolutely no pretense, which drove him absolutely _wild_ – "Dot's out for the evening with Hugh at the pictures, then ice cream and perhaps a walk along the shore – or is it the other way around?"

A tightness in his chest that he didn't know was there eased, and he had to exercise considerable restraint to keep from sighing in relief. But is also helped him regain his equilibrium and he gave her a heated look as he replied, "As Collins has tomorrow off, they'll likely be out quite late."

The _want_ that lit her eyes made Jack's body tighten in anticipation . . . especially when she released his hand and said, "How fortuitous," in an innocent tone that _should not be possible_ as she started for the back parlour again. As ever, Jack trailed willingly in her wake. He paused at the door and leaned against it, watching her glide elegantly across the room to the sideboard, but lost his patience for the game when she bent over to retrieve a pair of shot glasses from the interior cupboard – somehow managing to miss the full set waiting by the bottle.

Soundlessly crossing the plush carpet, Jack gently caught her hips and settled in behind her, his smile widening as she pushed against him for several delicious seconds before slowly straightening. With that same languid grace, Phryne tilted her head back to rest on his shoulder and turned to meet his gaze as he looked down at her, their lips tantalizingly close. They watched each other for a moment before Jack tightened his hands and dipped his head.

Phryne eagerly met his kiss and slid one hand behind his neck, holding him to her in case he had any foolish thoughts of moving. Her other hand grasped his and drew it up to her shoulders, encouraging him to explore. With a moan, Jack broke their kiss and dropped his chin to her shoulder so he could watch himself touch her. She shivered delightfully against him as his calloused fingertips traced the soft skin so proudly displayed in an erotic version of 'connect the dots' and gave him a gasp of pleasure that crescendoed into a full-body shudder and a choked whimper when he brushed his thumbs across her nipples.

That soft gasp shredded what little control he had left and Jack pressed her against the sideboard, leaning up against her with unmistakable intent while his hands covered her tight grip on the wood.

"Jack!" she breathed in delight, pushing back against him and drawing a moan from deep in his throat. A wicked laugh rang in his ears and suddenly Jack found himself with an armful of Phryne, her mouth capturing his as her hands untucked and unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. He didn't even notice being backed across the floor until his calves hit the chaise, and he only stayed upright because she was working his tie off. That done, she finished opening his shirt and pulled away to look at him. Jack actually had to close his eyes at the sheer _hunger_ that crossed her face at the sight of his bare chest.

"No undershirt, Inspector?" she murmured provocatively, rasping her nails across his pectorals before skimming them through his chest hair.

"No-ohGod," he moaned as she licked across his right nipple before gently scraping her teeth over it. And Jack really, truly, wanted to savour their first time, make it last for hours, but it had been so long since he'd had any kind of loveplay. Couple that with the never-ending teasing that he and Phryne had been engaging in for over a year and he was gone.

With a soft growl, Jack lunged forward and took her mouth in a searing kiss, snagging her skirts and starting to ruck them up. Never slow on the uptake, Phryne promptly went to work on his belt and trousers, laughing in triumph when she succeeded and freed him, only to stop him in his tracks by sinking to her knees, giving him one slow lick, and grabbing his hands to pull him down with her.

They toppled to the floor in a tangle of limbs, clothes, and wet, frantic kisses as Phryne shoved his pants and trousers down further while Jack _finally_ got her skirts out of the way and settled himself in the welcoming cradle of her thighs. Her eyes gleaming, Phryne looked up at him and the sight of her – lips swollen, wet, and utterly lacking any trace of lipstick, her chest heaving, and sweat beading across her lovely, lovely skin – enflamed him beyond reason.

"I hope you'll forgive the lack of finesse," he gasped as he braced himself above her on one hand and wrapped the other around his aching cock, "but you've been driving me insane for _months_."

"Who said anything about finesse?" she shot back, her hand joining his and guiding him in. A split second later he went still as his brain jabbered an incoherent _notwearingknickers_ and his mouth went dry. Wicked satisfaction lit her eyes as Phryne registered his reaction and she somehow managed a careless shrug.

"I did say 'usually,'" she pointed out with a maddening nonchalance before she curled her hands around his buttocks and tugged. A choked laugh was all Jack could manage as he obeyed and began to move, dropping his head to kiss her lush mouth again and reveling in the ecstasy of loving her. But it had been too long and he tumbled over the edge of the cliff without warning, spilling himself in her warm, welcoming body with mingled regret and sheer relief. Somehow, he managed to find the strength – and coordination – to flip them over and steadied his feet against the floor, letting Phryne brace herself against his knees and ride him through the last tremors of his climax to her own peak. Her keening cry of pleasure joined his hoarse shout and she collapsed on his chest, burying her head in his neck as his fingers limply tangled in her hair.

She roused after a few minutes and lifted her head, giving him a slow, sated smile. She looked like a cat who'd got the canary, the milk, and a full steak dinner, and Jack imagined that he looked much the same. As such, his return smile was full of smug pride.

"Forgive the lack of finesse, you said," she parroted in a slightly raspy voice. "I don't foresee that as a problem, Detective Inspector."

Jack affected a haughty air (completely ruined by his position and utter dishevelment, but damned if he was giving in this time) and arrogantly tilted his chin. "Didn't you know, Miss Fisher?" he purred, relishing the fact that he could do this, say this, and get nothing back but eager acceptance (and, knowing Phryne, an absolutely sinful comeuppance). "That was just the interrogation; we're still a long way from closing this case."

Her delighted laugh was like a sunburst and he gladly shared it with her before guiding her lips to his. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, possessively, and internally crowed that he felt the same emotions from her. Breathless, they pulled apart and gave each other matching self-satisfied smiles before bursting out into light, happy laughter, at ease with themselves and the situation. Phryne let him slip free of her as she shifted to lie beside him, tracing her fingers across his chest before lacing them through his and laying her head on his shoulder. Jack caressed her shoulders with his free hand and they lay quietly for a bit, too relaxed to move. A sudden mischievous desire swept over him when he encountered the soft material of the dress that had started it all and he murmured her name. When she looked up in inquiry, her eyes wide with curiosity, he grinned.

"We're having this dress framed."

It took her a few seconds to understand, but once she did, her eyes lit with the same wicked glee he felt.

"I think we must," she agreed with a sensual smile, releasing his hand and trailing her fingers down his stomach, heading unerringly for her prize. Unfortunately, Jack wasn't twenty anymore.

Catching her hand, he brought it to his lips and gently nipped her index finger before easing out from under her and getting to his feet (carefully, and with much suppressed groaning. God, he really _wasn't _twenty anymore). Tidying up was a useless endeavor, but he did get himself tucked away and rebuttoned his shirt (leaving his waistcoat on but open; he didn't want to wander the house later in search of his clothes), then offered his hand to Phryne. She eyed it with an expression of mild disbelief before turning a hopeful look on him, and he gave a soft snort of laughter.

"I should think we'll be more comfortable upstairs," he told her, taking her reluctantly-proffered hand and gently pulling her upright. A swift but extremely _thorough_ kiss quieted her next protest and then he backed away and started for the door, towing a silent Phryne. Since she couldn't see his face, Jack grinned in sheer triumph; he'd actually managed to get one over on her, which was something even the Germans couldn't claim. He had no illusions that it would last . . . and he was looking forward to it more than he would ever have imagined.

Despite the anticipation that was making the air spark (literally; he kept seeing little flashes at the edge of his vision – though that could have been because he'd momentarily gone blind from the sheer pleasure of his orgasm and his brain was restarting), they actually made it into the hall and started up the stairs. His body was beginning to regain its interest in the situation, which in turn heightened Jack's eagerness for Round 2, when Phryne 'stumbled' (she swore it was an accident; he wasn't born yesterday) and plastered herself against his back, her free hand somehow managing to cover his cock – which promptly perked up even more.

Well, if she was going to insist . . .

With a growl that could accurately be called 'feral,' he spun around, shoved her against the wall, and wedged himself between her thighs, catching her startled exclamation with a deep, hungry kiss. When she hooked her leg over his hip and squirmed (she later said it was to get comfortable; he still wasn't born yesterday), he bit her lip (rather harder than he meant to, but Phryne didn't seem to mind in the slightest, if the way she tangled her tongue with his was any indication) and slipped his left hand between them. As he had neither the room nor the patience to fumble with several layers of dress, no matter how seductive it was, he simply braced the heel of his palm against the delicious wet heat of her sex (even through the cloth and the feeling was sublime and he could scare fathom that Phryne wanted him that much) and started to rock against her. As with so much else, they easily found a rhythm.

"OhGodJack!" she gasped, scrabbling at his shoulders as he drove her to another climax, swallowing her scream of delight with his mouth and feeling unaccountably smug when she came so hard her nails actually tore into the material of his waistcoat (and quite possibly his shirt, not that he cared just then), her breath stuttering into several short gasps. When her tremors eased along with her grip, he carefully pulled his hand away and released her lips, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Her eyes were glassy with sated pleasure and Jack felt another spurt of pride – but his body had caught up and he wanted her (again, still, always) **now**. A quick look over her shoulder told him that her bedroom was only about thirty feet away and he took a deep breath to steel himself: they could make it. They _**would**_ make it. Stepping back, he again took Phryne's hand and gathered her to his side, and together they . . . well, stumbled, to her room, their ragged breathing the only sound to be heard.

The entrance wasn't quite wide enough to admit them both so Phryne led the way, giving him a sultry, come-hither look over one shoulder that was utterly unnecessary. Jack was stripping off his waistcoat as he crossed the threshold, pushing the door shut behind him, and his hands closed over her shoulders before it hit the floor. Phryne eagerly matched his kiss and drew him with her as she backed unerringly to the bed, turning them around somewhere between the door and getting his shirt off, and Jack let out a startled, "Oomph!" when she propelled him down to the mattress. Holding his gaze, she smirked and slowly tugged her skirts up to her thighs, triumph filling her eyes when he went still as she straddled him.

Determined not to be outdone (well, again), Jack quite deliberately looked down and wet his lips, watching her hands as she unbuckled his belt, her fingers tracing his zipper in a slow, maddening caress. Watching her play him like a violin was rapidly shredding what little control he had left and he tore his eyes away from her exquisite torture, looking up at her with wide eyes, catching his breath at the display above him: Phryne, looking utterly debauched with her hair forming a wild halo around her face, her lips wet and swollen, her eyes bright with lust and what looked like joy, and half out of a dress that was only half a dress to begin with. She was magnificent, ravishing, Aphrodite come to life. His goddess courtesan.

He changed his mind four seconds later. The woman was evil.

"Now, Inspector Robinson," she purred, popping the button on his trousers and sending his desire spiraling into dangerous territory when she opened his zipper by sliding her hand into his pants, curling her clever fingers around his aching, throbbing cock, and giving him one long, slow stroke.

"Phryne!" he gurgled, clamping his hands to her hips hard enough to bruise. She only smiled and leaned over, bringing her mouth to his ear and blazing a trail of fiery kisses down to his eager mouth.

"I believe you said something about finesse?"

~~~  
_finis_


End file.
